


Killer || Woosan

by Jam_less



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, LMAO, M/M, Woosan, sorry - Freeform, whoops i did it again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-22 11:15:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22148560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jam_less/pseuds/Jam_less
Summary: San's not a killer, or at least that's what he tells himself.But the three lives he's taken say otherwise.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Kudos: 45





	Killer || Woosan

The weight of the knife never left his hand. Even after San had cast the soiled object into the lake, it remained, etched in his memory, pressed against the skin of his right hand. 

It was still there as he walked into his apartment, the monotonous silence laced with the screaming in his skull. From the moment it had started, the eerie screeching had never left his ears, lingering in an unwanted place just like the knife. They were both still there as he stumbled into the shower, clothes still on. He pressed his temple against the white, tiled wall and felt the cold relief as he sank into a seated position, eyes tightly closed. 

But even as he closed his eyes, they opened to another world. The haunting look of a boy he knew, pressed close to his own face. It was misery that he saw in the boy's eyes. Fear and misery as he looked at San, searching for something. What? He forced himself to keep his eyes closed, to look at what he had done, but the pain was too much. The world was even more bleak than before as he pressed his back against the wall, wishing he would never have to see the boy's face again. But it was there when he closed his eyes, even just for a moment. The pounding of his heart was the last thing he heard before his senses went numb, overwhelmed by all of the sensations he was reliving. 

The first thing he felt when he came to, was everything. But the blood stood out. He was in a new pair of clothes, a messy outfit that he must have thrown on after retreating from the shower. But somehow, even though he knew he was clean, the blood still covered his arms. It still seeped through his chest, a figure falling against him and sliding to the ground, leaving him stained in dark liquid. It was warm and itchy, sinking through his skin and down, deep into his aching bones. 

Then the screaming was back, but it only took a second before he realized it was his own. He pressed his forehead against the carpet, knees tucked beneath his chest, and screamed until he could no longer hear the terrible noises in his own head. The bitter taste in his mouth was beaten back by that of the carpet, watered with the tears he hadn't realized were streaking down his face. His stomach lurched, and he wanted to throw up, but had nothing in his stomach. The though of eating only made him more sick. 

As he closed his mouth the screaming stopped, replaced by a sequence of hiccuping sobs that racked through his body, causing his back to rise and fall, and his frame to shake violently. 

"I'm so sorry," he whimpered into the carpet, hands ripping at the rough, itchy fabric. "I...I'm so sorry."

The sobs became quieter as time passed, and his body stilled. He was no longer crying, and he could no longer feel. In the absence of any sensation, he drifted off, the emptiness extending to his dreams, which were nonexistent. But sensation soon returned. 

He woke up sweating intensely, gasping for breath. The knife still sat in his hand, and the screams had returned, bouncing around his skull. He looked down to see blood coating his arms, but as he watched, it disappeared in to his skin, causing his hands to boil. 

"Stop," he whispered, "I don't deserve this." But he knew he did. "I'm not a bad person." He was, though. "I didn't mean to..." He couldn't finish the lie. He had meant to. In the moment he had thrust the knife into Mingi's chest, he had wanted to hurt the boy in front of him. He had meant to kill him with every ounce of his being. 

"Wooyoung?" San sat on his kitchen floor, staring at the phone he had set in front of him.

"What?" the boy on the other line snapped, angry. He had called him as soon as he woke up, aching to hear his counterpart's voice. But now that he did, he wished he hadn't. His words were cruel and angry, seething with hatred. 

"I need to see you, to talk to you. I can't do this alone."

"This is your fault, San. You did this to yourself, so leave me out of it," his words were harsh, his tone guarded. 

"I did this for you," San said slowly. "I would never have done this if not for you. I gave you everything and more."

"I didn't ask for it."

Silence echoed across the line, and San let his face fall into his hands. "If I hadn't been there, he would have killed you," he accused, growing angry himself. 

"So? I have no reason to live, but Mingi did. Why would I have wanted you to save me? Why would I have wanted to live?"

The response thudded through San, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. 'For me!' he wanted to scream. 'Do I mean nothing to you?' But instead, he could only respond weakly, "I thought you were happy. I thought we were..."

"We were delusional!" Wooyoung yelled, and San's frame shrunk even though it was only Wooyoung's voice. "Neither of us knows love, and we never will. Not from each other, or anyone else. We had it, San. But once you lose something, you can never gain it back. Not fully."

He was crying again, muffling the sound with his hands in a way that felt like he was drowning. "I loved you. I still love you, Wooyoungie." The shaking was becoming uncontrollable, and the screaming was back in his head. The sticky warmth of blood on his hands told him they were covered in red without even having to look down. 

The boy on the other line scoffed. "You don't love me San, and I didn't ask for this. Please, leave me alone."

"Don't do this to me," San whispered, shaking with desperation. "I need you, I can't do this without you."

"Then don't," Wooyoung responded. "I'm done. I can't do this anymore San, so I'm not going to." 

San's sobs became more desperate as he pleaded, "Wooyoung, don't," in a shaky voice. 

"Goodbye, San." There was no remorse in his voice as he said his farewell. 

A burst of frenzied desperation shot from San's throat as the other line went silent, save the sound of footsteps walking across a room. He would have said anything to stop the coming events, but it was as if they had already happened. He could recount every moment in his mind even as it happened. But the inevitability of the what was happening wasn't enough to stop his pleading. 

Through his lips slipped the lies that had started everything, but they could never stop what they had begun. He pleaded with the echoing silence, begging for forgiveness, company, love, and eventually just open ears. His love, his life, and even his soul would have been promised away without a moment's hesitation if it could have stopped Wooyoung. But by now, nothing could.

Finally, he stopped. When he could see with his own eyes the barrel down which Wooyoung was staring, his voice crumbled back into his throat; killed by the realization of it's own uselessness. 

There was time enough for only one question. He knew the answer, and yet he still asked, "Why are you doing this?"

The silence was his response, before a voice he had once loved delivered the final blow. 

"Because," Wooyoung spoke just loud enough to hear, "you aren't a good enough reason not to."

Nothing else registered to San's ears as he cried out. Not the sound of a gun going off, nor the silence after. He could only hear the pounding of his own heart rushing through his ears. 

An unknown strength allowed San to stand, turning his head painfully away from the phone. The beating of his heart was gone. He could hear the drops of blood as they splattered from his hands onto the floor; a drum to the symphony of screams in his head. He blinked and saw Mingi's face, broken and hurt, staring at him. "I'm not a killer," he whispered to himself. But he was. First Mingi, and now Wooyoung. "I didn't kill him!" he screamed at himself, but he had. 

The weight of the knife was back in his hand, but heavier this time. He looked down to see the blade shining a sharp, cold relief.

No matter how much he didn't want to believe it, he was a killer. 

And there was one more life to take.


End file.
